Well Begun is Half Done
by SihayaFaulkner
Summary: Written for Sycophant Hex's Deathday Festival. A dark ficlet examining Snape's motivation for joining, and then leaving, Voldemort's service. SSLP


This was my entry to the Deathday Festival at Sycophant Hex. They announced the winners today - not me - but haven't put up all of the stories. I think that means it's safe enough to post it here now. 

Here are the general challenge requirements for all categories listed below:

- No original characters are to be used within the stories.  
- More than one challenge idea may be combined in one entry.  
- Interpretations of characters are allowed, as long as the theories are clearly made within the story.  
- Het, Slash, Femmeslash, and GenFic authors are encouraged for all categories.  
- Incorporating Halloween or Nearly Headless Nick's Deathday Party is welcomed.

7. Stories about Voldemort/Death Eaters:  
- What motivates an individual to become a Death Eater? (Abuse cannot be a reason.)  
- Show why Voldemort trusts Snape, with the story taking place prior to HBP.

**Well Begun is Half Done**

"There is no chance, no destiny, no fate, that can circumvent or hinder or control the firm resolve of a determined soul."

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

"He promised me, Lucius," a voice said hollowly.

The addressed wizard was silent.

Snape repeated the lament, staring down at the cooling body of Lily Potter, "He promised me."

"She resisted. I fail to see what good it will do you now to bemoan His change of… well I daren't say heart, but He was hardly going to resist killing the child simply because of your weakness for the Mudblood."

Snape kneeled down and touched a finger to the witch's cheek. The kill had been recent; the body showed little evidence to suggest it wasn't still alive. He trailed his fingers across her neck – pink still, though the heat was slowly receding from the skin. The absence of warmth made little difference to him; his hands were accustomed to the cold.

Lucius stepped around the smoldering pile of cloth that had once been their master and stood over the crib.

"We should take the child before the Aurors come."

"I never wanted _his_ child."

"It was hers too," Malfoy parried.

He needed Snape to pull himself together. He was by far the most competent of their number, responsible for the success of most of their undertakings. He needed that ruthless single-mindedness to take advantage of this situation, instead of wallowing in the loss of their master and this unremarkable, dirty Muggle who dared to sully their world with her impure spawn.

There was a rustle of fabric, and an ever-so-faint _pop_ heard behind him.

"Severus?" Malfoy turned to see his friend, and the dead Mudblood, gone from the house.

He bit off a curse. Snape had always been prone to such sentimental melancholy – it was a weakness Malfoy knew to exploit – but it could crop up at the most inconvenient times. He couldn't rightly set off across the countryside with the squalling brat _and_ hunt Snape down _and_ take his master's place. 

There was nothing for it; he would have to leave the child here for now.

The infant wailed again and drew the pale stare back towards it. So much trouble for such a common child. A problem still, truth be told. The notion that somehow he would be made to regret the decisions made tonight insinuated itself into his consciousness. It was an uncomfortable novelty for him.

Lucius reached out to touch the scar on the boy's head; his gloved finger traced the serrated line – a bolt carved out by death and power. The child squirmed and wailed, it's small face flushed red and glistening with tears. All it would take would be to slide his hand lower and squeeze until he heard a crack. There was power there, though. Power Lucius respected too much to cast aside simply for fear of reprisal. He pulled his hand away.

"Be seeing you," he promised.

The air still crackled from Malfoy's departure when an enchanted motorbike landed outside.

* * *

Severus wrapped his arms around Lily and Apparated to the solitude of Spinner's End.

With an arm around her chest, Snape dragged the body behind the false bookcase and into a hidden room. It – no, she – was heavy and unwieldy to maneuver through the narrow doorway. A burden he was willing to shoulder because, in the end, Mobilicorpus was anathema. To do so would be a conscious admission of death; her weight, if not warmth, added verisimilitude to the moment.

There would be time enough for reality to intrude later.

It was solitude he craved that moment, not in the least to rid himself of the annoyance of Malfoy. Lucius didn't understand, nor would he ever. He had Narcissa, after all. Glorious Narcissa, a goddess bathed in silver light and as elusive as a passing reflection in a pane of glass. The woman who now had borne him a son.

Severus Snape had no love for impenetrable beauty.

He crumpled to the floor with Lily clutched to him. No, the witch here, with him, truly was the prize. Even now, sullied as she was by the fatigue of battle and the abuses of childbirth, she was desire incarnate. Snape smoothed down her robes, and lingered with his hand over her stomach. Lithe, she was not. There was, perhaps, and excess of flesh, but then she had never been one of those Quidditch worshiping mongrels darting around the pitch like trained dogs. It was disgusting. Unseemly.

His Lily, for all the flocking she did to Potter's side, had no use for sport. She had been drawn, just as Severus had, to the intoxicating depths of potions making. The expression, frozen in death on her face, pained and twisted in one foolish moment of self-sacrifice, was not far from how he remembered she looked as she had concentrated over every brewing. He outlined the creases on her brow with a steady finger, smoothed the hair off her forehead to trace their path between her brows and to the ridge of her nose. So beautiful, so _his_. 

Snape reached out to take her hand and lift it up. The body shifted against him, head lolling back and shifting the dead, foggy stare to the ceiling. He paid this no mind; his attention was turned to her fingers. Practical hands, they were. Stained and dotted with scars – oil burns, slips of the knife, the inevitable marks of the trade. Snape pressed his lips to the center of her palm, lingering with her fingers against his cheek. Temptation sent his mouth to her thumb, his tongue across the slightly callused ridge of skin.

Snape set her hand against his cheek. She had only touched him once while they were in school. Quick as a snake, her hand had shot out to grab his wrist – a futile attempt to prevent him from hexing Potter. Folly, true, for she had no grounds to interfere. He had let his tongue curse her where he knew his wand would not. She had left, hiding the tears his barbs had produced, tucked against the side of James Potter while Black had finished him off.

He lingered over the memory of her walking away: long, straight robes hiding the curve of her back, the hem lapping at her heels even while her breath hitched, shoulders trembling with the force of her sobs. Lily was an emotional being. It was, after all, why she had been sorted Gryffindor, and why she had disappeared into the tower with James Potter.

Gone from him, but only temporarily. An injustice that was supposed to be remedied: Severus' reward for unflinching service to His cause.

If there had been an order, he had carried it out. He had done it well. He had been _good_ at it. His reputation was such that those under him dreaded being led by another; Snape never led anyone to be killed (Rosier had been Malfoy's responsibility). His master had been so pleased, and Snape had remained steadfast to his duty.

Only to then to find her married and swollen with Potter's seed.

His master was to have seen to them. The evidence of her adulteration disposed of cleanly, then leaving Lily to his care. He would have cleansed her of this stain. He would have forgiven her this mistake.

But the child still lived. Potter's child. It was the reason why she was cold and dead and gone from him. One last loose end that needed to be plucked away until no sign of its existence remained. Kill the child and finish it. Later, though. Now was a moment outside of time for him alone. He gathered her against his chest and breathed in the smell of her hair. How many Aurors had he killed to be able to hold her like this?

Here in the tomb of his parent's house, she was his. The way she should have been all along. The way she had been promised to him.

_Lily_.

Severus bowed his head and wept.

* * *

When Lucius had finally discerned the location to which Snape had fled, it was nearly three.

His first inclination had been to Apparate to where their master had dwelled. A likely choice had it been any other time Snape had disappeared to brood. Lucius should have known better tonight than to waste time travelling the distance. Severus was not bound to seek solace in the domain of He who had killed the witch. Thankfully, there were few places Severus trusted enough to retreat to. Loath as Lucius was to step foot there, he Apparated to Spinner's End. Privacy was paramount for whatever it was he planned to do. For all that the house lacked, it made up for in isolation. Few knew Severus well enough to have been here before; fewer still knew enough of the house's secrets to find where he could have hid.

It took nearly as long to break through the wards as it had to Apparate across continents.

Malfoy found him tucked away in a room no larger than a closet. Snape was shifting the body from the floor and sitting it up against the wall. He let his hand linger against its chest before pulling away to wipe his eyes on his sleeve.

Lucius announced himself.

"Tears over a Mudblood, Severus? What would our master have said to that?"

The wizard on the floor laughed. "He would be more curious as to why we hadn't begun the resurrection spell for Him yet."

The silence turned palpable when no response was immediately forthcoming.

"It was never clear whether it had been finished," Lucius prevaricated. 

Snape's smile twisted, "It was."

The potion was there, locked in his mind. Every ingredient catalogued and purchased, furrowed away safely in the event there was a miscalculation in His plans. It would be so easy to conjure Him back now, only a handful of hours had passed. Necromantic rituals were so _simple_ if done while death was still fresh. In those conditions even a brute like Malfoy could have managed it. Severus' smile grew at the thought of the circumstances becoming less viable with each passing minute. 

Malfoy grew anxious; he had not anticipated the possibility that Snape would be a hindrance to his own rise. He watched his friend cord his fingers through the dead girl's hair, gently working through each tangle. There had, perhaps, been even more to Snape for which he had not prepared.

"And now?" Lucius asked with trepidation.

"He promised me, Lucius." The broken edge returned to his voice.

Desperation could always be twisted, utilized. Malfoy balanced on the blade's end, hoping if he applied just enough pressure to his friend that the cut would be in their favour.

"And He has paid for his mistake, Severus."

_Not nearly enough_.

Snape shook his head, the thought echoing in his ears until it was drowned out by the sound of his own blood coursing through his head. No, no it wasn't enough. It would never be enough. The body was dead, but the wizard was not. Severus had no intention of coaxing his master back from the ether, but he neither was he suffering under the delusion that it could be avoided for long. Then, when it was, when He returned, Snape would be waiting. Paid for his mistakes? No, not nearly enough. 

Snape stilled, pausing while he released Lily's limp body to stand up. With a suddenness unexpected even of himself, he grabbed the front of Malfoy's robes. Lucius' poise broke; he flinched at the mania reflected in his friend's eyes. Severus was capable of a great many things – had done enough to cow their comrades by force of will alone – but they had always been executed with bone chilling precision. Dark, empty eyes stared through him. Never before had Lucius felt fear when looking at his friend.

"Severus – " The grip on his collar tightened.

"Go. Go home. You weren't here. There are…" He shook his head again and struggled to keep control of himself. "There is little time left, and the backlash will be swift."

_Yes. Send Lucius home. No need for him to be caught in the fallout. The others, though…_

Lucius remained where he was. His mind raced for a way to intercede before Snape ruined all of his plans. The situation was unraveling, and Malfoy found himself trapped because the look in Severus' eye promised pain to whomever stood in his way. Lucius glanced away from those eyes to the body on the floor. There would be time later for machinations, time when the threat of death was less certain.

Lucius nodded once and stepped aside. Regrets would not be the worst that came from tonight.

Snape released the other wizard and grabbed the body by the arm to drag it out of the room. He had a stop to make before he went to Dumbledore. He had to sacrifice his prize; there was little choice. Dumbledore was well placed and held the resources Snape needed. Then all he had to do was bide his time. He had the patience to do whatever was necessary, whatever was needed, to have his revenge.

Severus Disapparated with purpose.

_Not nearly enough._


End file.
